


Because I could not stop for Death

by AndiiErestor



Series: Oracle of Imladris [29]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: B2MEM2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24043417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/pseuds/AndiiErestor
Summary: Glorfindel has long wondered about the aftermath of the fall, but to ask seemed insensitive, so he’d kept his curiosity to himself.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel
Series: Oracle of Imladris [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1198450
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	Because I could not stop for Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dalandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalandel/gifts), [LadyBrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/gifts), [StormXPadme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/gifts), [peasantswhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasantswhy/gifts), [moiety](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiety/gifts).



> Day 18 Prompt:
> 
> “Because I could not stop for Death –  
> He kindly stopped for me –  
> The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  
> And Immortality.  
> …  
> Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet  
> Feels shorter than the Day  
> I first surmised the Horses' Heads  
> Were toward Eternity –”
> 
> \- Emily Dickinson, excerpt from "Because I could not stop for Death"

Glorfindel has long wondered about the aftermath of the fall, but to ask seemed insensitive, so he’d kept his curiosity to himself.

Some things he’d come to understand himself, of course, like how Erestor’s voice had not been affected by the thing that had harmed his neck – he only _chose_ not to speak. He’d been furiously upset at the discovery: was he not worth speaking to? It was almost humiliating to remember it, the way his face had turned red as he tried desperately to hold back tears. It should have been a beautiful occasion – to hear Erestor’s voice – and yet, the memory was now tinted with the bitterness of wasted opportunity. Not towards Erestor, however – no, Erestor had been a gem. He’d finished speaking to the children before pulling him aside, silent as always, holding his hands and gazing into his eyes openly and honestly, until Glorfindel took a deep breath and nodded.

Though he still did not fully understand the reasoning behind it, he understood and respected his choice, and hoped he would one day be at peace with that. While he no longer felt that it was he who was lacking in any way or that he was not worth the effort of speaking to- that they could find their own way of communicating – but that some simply _couldn’t_ communicate otherwise. Glorfindel understood now… Erestor’s words were a precious gift, and he cherished them all.

Glorfindel also understood that Erestor had acquired his own demons, as he escaped the wreckage of Gondolin but not the nightmares that still held him in chains. It was rare now – unpredictable, even – but Glorfindel had been there often enough now to understand that they were not going anywhere for good any time soon. They were sometimes such that Erestor awoke gasping for breath, others he would be clawing at his throat, sometimes there was whimpering, sometimes there were only silent tears, but the worst – oh, the worst… Some nights when they both expected it least, though they really should have known better – for though these nightmares were not constant, and Erestor did not always wake from them shouting, he _always_ reached for his lover upon waking – as these rarely occurred but during the festival summer. These, Glorfindel had never needed to ask about, for though neither thought to expect it, come warm weather, the subject of the dream was never hard to guess, and _always_ it broke Glorfindel’s heart to hear his name shouted so brokenly by his lover who, otherwise, only spoke to him with soft, peaceful intention.

Thought Erestor spoke little, his actions said everything he didn’t put words to, from a kiss to the skinned knee of a small child in the market square to the way he steadfastly advised Elrond on all matters to the way his eyes sought the sky as he danced around the fire, to the manner in which his body moved with Glorfindel’s in the night. Yes, Erestor was without speech, but he was far from silent. He spoke with his actions, with his care, with his soul. He spoke to _Glorfindel’s_ soul seemingly without trying, and though communication without words was not easy, they were coming ever closer to understanding each other without conscious effort.

The one thing Erestor _had_ tried to explain to him – for the importance of his rituals depended on Glorfindel not only understanding that these were sacred to him, but _knowing, seeing, feeling_ that there was more to them than simply his lover and the tools of his trade – was that the dance was more than spinning around in circles, but was awakening the world around him, that his voice raised in song was more than him practicing his voice, but was a gift – an offering – _thanks_ for all that was and would be, that the changes to his form under the fullness of the moon were more than a simple trick, but were a joining of both halves of his soul in its truest form – not a trick, but a blessing, bestowed upon him by the Valar themselves, and upon Glorfindel in turn when Erestor had deemed him worthy of his most precious secrets.

It had been a short conversation, for though Erestor was thankful for the blessings of the Valar, the memory was still uncomfortable to dredge up. And so, ever insightful, clear-minded, and understanding, Erestor had told him one night – and Glorfindel had understood the depth of what was spoken – about the aftermath – about what follow his death. He’d explained that in his grief, he’d thought he had follow Glorfindel to the halls, even as lord Irmo spoke to him, that it wasn’t until the lord of the Halls himself threw him out that he understood: he needed to live, and Glorfindel’s heart broke again, for he knew now how long Erestor had been alone, and how faithfully he’d waited for him.

For millennia his love had waited, loved him and him alone… Perhaps then _waiting_ wasn’t what he’d done. For Erestor would never dare be so selfish as to wait for – to _expect_ \- something which was never promised to him, but still he’d been faithful. So was it then that he’d not waited nor dared to expect, but simply never hoped for another – never dared to look for a lover or sought to give his heart to another. Broken though it was, and so far away from himself, that Erestor had never hoped to find another and never so much as thought to look…

Glorfindel broke down finally. He could no longer hold back his tears. The emotion is his heart too much, filling to overflowing.

Immediately Erestor was at his side, “ _Love_ ,” gentle arms around his waist and soft lips pressed to his cheek with utmost care.

And Glorfindel laughed through the tears, for yes, though they still struggled sometimes, Erestor _always_ knew best what to say, and how to make him feel whole again.

So Glorfindel still wondered sometimes, but didn’t ask, for he knew in the end his lover would tell him if anything was of great enough importance. Until then, he was content to simply live and love and watch Erestor thrive at his side.


End file.
